


Unanswered Questions

by Sunnyrea



Series: The War [28]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: 1780, Established Relationship, Historical, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Original Character(s), Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: He is pleased to see Laurens, pleased very much to see him alive. Yet his chest also burns with an anger – fear, sorrow, confusion – having grown over the eight months of their separation which no letter helped to clarify or explain. Though he cares very deeply for his Laurens, wants him well and near, Hamilton also learned, not weeks after Laurens’ original departure south, that Laurens is in fact married.Laurens returns to headquarters from the southern campaign and Hamilton waits to find an answer about Laurens' marriage and his true feelings.[Part of a series but can be read as a stand alone]





	Unanswered Questions

Alexander Hamilton stands on the porch of the Ford Mansion in Morristown. The widow, Mrs. Ford, has obliged to rent a portion of the house to the army for General Washington’s headquarters during their winter quartering into the next year. The army camped the winter of ‘77 in Morristown as well, and though it is not their usual habit to repeat a quartering location, near three years later they have chosen to return to such a defensible location. Hamilton left the remainder of the General’s staff and the General at West Point in order for Hamilton to make arrangements and smooth things over with the city itself. Their first quartering was not kind to the town, bringing disarray and disease to its residents. Hamilton must ensure their winter quarters safe, secure and at least as welcome as possible.

Now, however, Hamilton waits on the porch, not to complete any of his numerous tasks before the General arrives, but to welcome the return of one missing aide–de–camp from the battle in the south.

John Laurens dismounts his horse, handing the reigns to a waiting servant. Hamilton keeps his hands clasped tightly together behind his back. He is pleased to see Laurens, pleased very much to see him alive. Yet his chest also burns with an anger – fear, sorrow, confusion – having grown over the eight months of their separation which no letter helped to clarify or explain. Though he cares very deeply for his Laurens, wants him well and near, Hamilton also learned, not weeks after Laurens’ original departure south, that Laurens is in fact married.

“Hamilton,” Laurens says warmly from the base of the few stairs leading up to the front door, one hand on the white railing.

“Lieutenant Colonel Laurens,” Hamilton replies, his voice stiff, “it is good to see you safe and well.”

Laurens nods once as he climbs the steps. “Well enough to return and acquire more desperately needed aid for the fight in the south.”

He stops beside Hamilton at the top of the stairs. Hamilton breathes in slowly as he tips his head up enough to keep Laurens’ eye contact. Laurens appears just the same, the same rounded chin and sloping nose, strong brow, blue eyes and the same full, carved lips Hamilton knows so well. Laurens holds out his hand and Hamilton takes it, shaking once. He wants to pull Laurens into his arms and then shove him backward down the stairs.

Hamilton pulls his hand sharply away. “I shall show you the house.”

Hamilton turns and opens the white door, leading Laurens inside. In the front hall, he gestures to the closed doors on the right of the house. “Mrs. Ford and her children will be removing themselves to the right portion of the residence during our stay while they have ceded us these two rooms here,” he gestures left to the office and parlor, “one for the General and the other for we aides as you might expect.”

“As in most places we have worked,” Laurens remarks.

“Above stairs they have allowed us more space.”

Laurens turns his head to Hamilton. “Might I see it?”

Hamilton glances at Laurens. He feels his hands tingle and he clenches his jaw. Hamilton looks away to one chair waiting beside a closed door. He thinks of the letter in his hand, the letter addressed to John Laurens from a Mrs. Laurens, from his wife. Hamilton thinks of Tilghman and Meade.

_“I should have expected our Laurens to be hiding an amorous connection, he with such a passion for the fight, of course he should have a passion of another kind.”_

Tilghman chuckling at Meade’s words. _“A pity he left her across the sea with the enemy.”_

_“And to not tell us anything of his happy matrimonial state!” Meade clapping his hands. “I shall be sure to get the whole of it from him when we see him next.”_

The letter in Hamilton’s hands, delivered by another woman, something she said about a daughter too, the word wife, wife, wife and a rushing sound in Hamilton’s ears like the whole of St. Croix crushed under wind and rain and Hamilton’s bursting heart.

“Hamilton?”

Hamilton glances back to Laurens standing near him, Laurens here and real once more.

“Yes,” Hamilton says, “we may as well.”

Hamilton leads them down the wide hall to the stairs, his boots loud in the open space. He turns upward, Laurens close at his hip and onto the second floor.

“Mrs. Ford has allowed us extra rooms here,” Hamilton says, standing at the head of the stairs as Laurens walks a few paces. “These four rooms: the General, two for we aides and we felt it best to allow a room for the General’s guards in the house this winter.”

Laurens glances back at Hamilton from the entrance to one of the aide–de–camp bedrooms. “Oh?”

Hamilton merely nods.

Laurens steps away from the doorway and back toward Hamilton. He touches Hamilton’s arm, slides it around and pushes at the small of Hamilton’s back. Hamilton steps twice forward and then away from Laurens’ hand.

“Hamilton...” Laurens urges. 

Hamilton glances at him again. Laurens walks around Hamilton closer to one of the bedrooms. Hamilton glances behind him at the stairs, many servants below and some bound to ascend soon. He turns back and marches toward Laurens, past him and into the first aide bedroom. He hears the door close then turns around into Laurens’ arms. Laurens wraps his arms snug around Hamilton and kisses Hamilton hard, breathing deeply through his nose as his lips press and his hand cradles Hamilton’s face. Hamilton thinks for a moment he had forgotten the exquisite pleasure of such intimacy, of the hard press of every edge and curve of Laurens so close. He kisses back just in time before Laurens breaks the kiss with a shuddering breath. 

Laurens presses his forehead against Hamilton’s. “I am very pleased to see you.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Hamilton replies, his voice edging into a tone more cutting – he thinks of a letter, a truth, of Mrs. John Laurens. He turns his head to the side. “I had wondered if upon your return you might find my company less entertaining than when you left.”

Laurens’ swallows. “I know you would not believe such a sentiment to be true.”

“Would I not?” Hamilton steps back out of Laurens’ arms. “I believe in your absence I have found truth and deception in unexpected places.”

“Not deception,” Laurens says.

“No?” Hamilton purses his lips. “Ah, well then, perhaps we possess a different definition of the word. Did your schooling and personal pursuits in England so long ago bring you a wider knowledge of such critical vocabulary I am lacking?”

“Hamilton, I know what you would ask me.”

“Ask?” Hamilton tilts his head and his hands fist. “Why should I need to ask anything when I should have been told?”

Suddenly a knock comes at the closed door. Laurens looks back at the door then to Hamilton, an urgent look upon his face. Hamilton, however, ignores his concern and moves to the door, opening it quickly. A servant holding Lauren’s bags stands on the other side.

“Yes?”

“Pardon for the disturbance, sir, but where is the gentleman to be billeted for his stay?”

Hamilton glances at Laurens then back to the servant. “As the remaining officers have yet to arrive you may put him the second bedroom there.”

“I need not take an entire –”

Hamilton cuts off Laurens. “He may have the second bedroom until the General and the remaining staff arrive. Then we may find a new place for him, perhaps with the guards as I do not know the length of his stay.”

The servant glances back at Laurens, perhaps hoping for some information from Laurens on just how long he should be here. Hamilton however, steps out of the room beside the servant and gestures, “Now, please.”

The man nods and continues down the hall. Hamilton looks back at Laurens. “I shall allow you to rest after so long a journey.”

Laurens gives Hamilton a stern rest. “It is not rest I need but your attention.”

“Unfortunate that you cannot have it just now,” Hamilton says curtly. “I must attend to the assurances of our winter stay in this house and a nearer place for the entirety of our army. I am afraid you, but one man, cannot command my attention now.”

“Hamilton, stop.”

Hamilton turns away. “After such a ride and so long absent from headquarters you may wish to refresh yourself and perhaps review some of the recent activities here.” He walks away from the door and toward the stairs. “I shall see you for dinner if I am afforded time.”

Hamilton marches toward the stairs and descends without looking back. He walks quickly into the aide–de–camp office and stands in the middle of the room. He breathes in slowly once then out again as he stares at the large fireplace. He does not hear footsteps behind him. Hamilton swallows once and breathes in sharply through his nose. Hamilton cannot decide now if he would have wished to be followed by his married friend or not.

 

The next several days prove to be busy for Hamilton. He finalizes arrangements with Mrs. Ford and her household as to their use of her home. Hamilton arranges for cooks specifically for the General, staff and servants to be brought in from Morristown. He hopes the use of some locals may help to show their goodwill toward the town and their desire to not behave as they did during their first stay. Laurens helps him with arrangements for food deliveries and other supplies they may need from local grocers and tradesmen.

Hamilton’s interactions with Laurens remain terse whenever Laurens attempts to stray from topics of the army.

“Hamilton, I understand what you have learned in my absence.”

“Yes.” Hamilton blows out a candle on their desk as he stands from the table. “I have learned the value of correspondence and how revealing or not it may be.”

“You say so but I believe that is just the crux of it,” Laurens says as he tries to grip Hamilton’s hand. “I am convinced many of my letters to you were miscarried or obstructed and you may not have received the whole of my feelings while apart.”

“Oh?” Hamilton says, pulling his hand behind his back and out of reach. “Did a letter never received contain a detailed explanation as to the truth of your matrimony?”

Laurens swallows once. “I should imagine the present, not the past, and my affection toward you more important than –”

A knock comes at the door and a Private pokes his head in. “Colonel Hamilton?”

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Ford asks for you about the discussion of her compensation for the General’s stay.”

“Thank you, I shall see her at once.” Hamilton nods and walks away from Laurens without looking back.

Hamilton assists with location scouting for the main body of the army. They cannot encamp in the Ford Mansion’s yard to be sure, nor directly within the town. He must find a location with enough land for their entire force, timber for the building of huts and, of most importance, some place defensible if the enemy should attempt any sort of infiltration or even a meager attack despite the winter cessation of battle.

“General Greene and Wayne have been to see Equacanack today but I must speak to them of another position,” Hamilton says to Laurens as he pulls on his gloves and opens the front door of the house.

“Wayne mentioned Harlingen,” Laurens says as Hamilton descends the steps toward his horse.

“He did but I have another view. I must ride and meet a Mr. Kimble.”

Laurens follows Hamilton and offers a hand to help Hamilton onto his waiting horse. Hamilton steps onto the block brought by his servant instead, ignoring Laurens’ hand. 

Laurens pulls his hand back and holds both behind his back, looking up at Hamilton. “Will you be long? I have a mind to write a report of Savannah and then of Charleston before the General’s arrival to make my request for aid more formal. I should value your opinion.”

Hamilton huffs once, gripping the reigns. “Well, it certainly is most fortuitous to be valued now when of use.”

“I simply mean that your turn of phrase is more skilled and polished than my own. You know my bluntness at times.”

“Yes, and your silence. Perhaps you should try some of that in your entreats.” Hamilton takes the papers his servant offers and places them in his saddlebag. “Your silence has earned you pleasures in the past, why could it not bring more material use now?”

“Unlike your silence which does not exist,” Laurens hisses back, “as you prefer barbs.”

Hamilton kicks his horse’s sides and rides off without a reply.

The two of them circle each other through the days, no other aides to distract them or meetings with the General or letters to pen. Hamilton’s mind is not so fully at use to stop his swirling thoughts. Yet they have planning of billeting an army and preparing a household and reporting on the southern campaign and their need for more troops. Servants run about the house, cleaning rooms and making beds and bringing in stores of food, everything to prepare for their important arrival in General Washington. Hamilton wants to hear what Laurens would say, wants an explanation in the moments when he can push his anger aside but they cannot find time in private.

“I have explanations,” Laurens says in Hamilton’s door upstairs. “I had no intention of causing you pain. If I could say...”

Hamilton breathes out, stares at his papers on the meeting he must have with General Greene. “Yes?” He looks up, a raw feeling in his throat. “Tell me.”

“My past is... if I did not speak to it, it was...”

“Sir?” One of the house servants appears behind Laurens with a quick curtsey. “The stable hands bid me fetch you as your horse is ready.”

Laurens shoots a glare even Hamilton catches to the woman behind him before looking back at Hamilton. “But a moment, we must –”

“No.” Hamilton’s jaw tightens once more as he thinks of eight months and less letters and no real reply to his question, his one obvious need for explanation, and how easy a pen to paper can be if one truly means to write. He gathers up his papers and pushes past Laurens. “I must give my recommendation to General Greene for Jockey Hollow for our force’s encampment.”

“Can you not wait an hour?” Laurens says, gripping Hamilton’s arm. “Less?”

“Duty first,” Hamilton says brusquely, turning Laurens’ own past words back to him and walking on.

Even in the evenings when they may eat together or rise above stairs in the dark night, servants attend them at table and sleep in the upstairs hall. Hamilton dare not creep to Laurens’ room and Laurens is appreciative of the same dangers. Some nights he wishes he had not been so vengeful the first day and chosen to room Laurens instead just a bed away where Hamilton could easily forget his anger to Laurens’ kisses and hands and body instead.

They meet in the hall before they retire in darkness but for their own candles. Shadows play over Laurens face so Hamilton thinks only of stripping off his cravat and coat and boots. He thinks of gripping Laurens’ thighs tight against himself, pushing Laurens into the wall right here and dropping to his knees.

“Good evening, Hamilton,” Laurens says to him and Hamilton sees the lust in his eyes too. “Can we not... I want... I am not tired yet.”

Hamilton thinks of laying Laurens on the floor and sitting astride him, watching Laurens’ face as he is completely lost to the ecstasy of Hamilton riding him – not as any woman would. He wants to forget his anger and just feel this man he has missed so much.

“Neither am –” Footsteps on the stairs cause them to both step backward and Hamilton says, “Sleep well,” as he turns into his own room alone still aching and angry.

Instead, the two of them write across tables, meet with the Generals sent from West Point, debate possible enemy action – would the access of retreat to West Point be of the most import in their army’s location or a better availability of wood?

Laurens says, “You would treat me so when we may have such little time together?”

Hamilton replies, “You would treat me so when we were so long apart?”

Hamilton’s mind turns and turns writing out the words – married, married – and seeing Laurens right beside him, real and divine and a betrayal in every inch of his height and his beauty. Hamilton sees the letters he sent on to Laurens himself, words from Laurens’ wife, a wife Hamilton had never heard a syllable of before. Then he hears the words Laurens whispered in his ear so many times, ‘my Alexander, always.’ Hamilton believes, has to believe, in Laurens’ care, his affection, his love but then he looks at their letters, at the lines he never heard and the intimacies before that without one needed truth. It spins and spins around Hamilton and he wants to kiss Laurens until the world disappears or grab Laurens by the hair and just scream.

 

It has been five days and Hamilton has had enough, enough of this dance, his own paltry punishments, the stilted conversation, the unquenched desire that even anger cannot quell. He knows that Laurens knows the same, and Laurens knows that Hamilton knows he knows and he knows he needs this now.

“Hamilton?” Laurens asks as Hamilton approaches him by the stairs.

“Laurens.”

They stop and stand near each other in the hall, just to the left of the door to the cellar. Laurens steps close to Hamilton, even in his public space. Their chests nearly touch, Laurens’ buttons brushing Hamilton’s with each breath and Hamilton’s pulse feels as fast as a battlefield. He stares at Laurens lips just wanting to kiss him – oh, kiss him and hold him and have him. Laurens’ fingers ghost over Hamilton’s hand, his knee bent so it touches Hamilton’s thigh. Hamilton breathes in shakily, bites the edge of his lip. He thinks, ‘I hate you, I love you.’

“Please, Alexander...” Laurens whispers.

Then they hear someone coming from the Ford side of the house, the ever present interruption. Laurens takes one step back for modesty sake but remains looking at Hamilton, waiting. A servant of the Ford’s walks through the door to the library carrying some linens toward the back door. Once the outer door closes behind the man, Hamilton grips Laurens’ arm, yanks the cellar door open and pushes Laurens down the stairs before him, shutting the door as he follows. 

Laurens ducks under a low beam as they reach the dirt floor of the cellar. The temperature is markedly colder and the light far dimmer through the small stone mullion windows close to the ceiling, only two along one wall. Hamilton’s eyes adjust quickly, however, and he easily sees Laurens’ questioning expression.

“I know we must talk,” Laurens says first in a hush as they still stand close.

“Yes.”

“We have tried.”

“It is a busy house.”

“Yes.”

They stare at each other still. Hamilton sees crates, some open with jars of dried food and others nailed shut, as well as large barrels arranged in one corner filling a third of the space. A narrow rack with bottles of wine fit to one side of a window closer to the stairs behind him. In the middle of the room, Laurens. Hamilton looks Laurens up and down as he stands in front of Hamilton, tall and straight backed and gorgeous in his uniform, as he always is, even with some hairs hanging out of place. Hamilton wants to tear him apart.

Laurens breath hitches as Hamilton blows out a breath. Then they both move quickly together – desperate kisses, hands grasping, Hamilton’s knee immediately between Laurens’ legs. Hamilton kisses Laurens past months apart, presses them together harder, bites Laurens’ lip. Laurens hisses and his hand clutches at Hamilton’s shoulder. Hamilton pushes Laurens’ backward with his whole body, fists his hands around Laurens’ wrists when Laurens’ back hits a tower of crates.

Hamilton knows of men before him in Laurens’ life, knows the truth of a woman; he knows all men have a past but now, now it is only Hamilton – no other man, no wife, no lie – Hamilton has Laurens, no one else. No one else kisses Laurens like this, bites and sucks his neck, hears Laurens’ sigh, feels his arousal, strokes a hand lower over Laurens’ breeches; no one else wants Laurens so intensely, aches for him, no one else is going to fuck his Laurens, not right now.

They both pull at buttons on their breeches, too quickly, too sloppy. Hamilton knocks Laurens back into the crates with his thighs, shoves Laurens’ hands away and demands control. Laurens bites his lip, closes his eyes then opens them again quickly as Hamilton frees them from their breeches, wrapping his hand around both their lengths. Hamilton stares into Laurens’ eyes – an ocean, a sea, a sky with clouds Hamilton refuses to see in this moment with Laurens under his hand, just a blue sky of eyes in this man, his John, his Jack.

Hamilton pulls his hand back making Laurens gasp. He grips Laurens’ hips, shifts him right to a shorter stack of closed crates as high as Laurens’ waist. Then he pulls at Laurens’ breeches, pushing them and Laurens’ small clothes lower. He kisses Laurens hard, Laurens kisses back, his hand reaching for Hamilton’s arousal but Hamilton abruptly breaks their kiss. He grips Laurens’ bicep and turns him around, pushing up his coat and shirt so Laurens groans. He pushes Laurens down over the crate, Laurens moving easily. Hamilton’s fingers slide over Laurens’ backside, press at his entrance but Hamilton is frustrated and hard and too long apart makes him impatient. He thinks only – ‘mine, mine, please be mine, just mine, only mine.’ Hamilton rubs his own early moisture over his penis, keeps a hand on Laurens’ back, another on his hip and thrusts into Laurens quickly. Laurens cries out sharp and short, resistance apparent and his hands gripping the edge of the crate. A bell of alarm rings in Hamilton’s head and he starts to pull away but Laurens’ hand jerks back and grips’ Hamilton’s hand on his hip.

“Yes,” Laurens gasps.

Laurens shifts, hisses, pushes back against Hamilton and the tension in Laurens, the too long without, slowly gives. Then Hamilton slides deep and they both groan at once. Hamilton does not pause now, he thrusts rough and hard into Laurens so the crate knocks against the wall and Laurens’ boots slide on the packed dirt. Hamilton shifts the wool of his breeches to allow more movement, more room to thrust over and over, deep and tight and familiar and something he has missed and needed and wanted like fire. 

Hamilton breathes hard, pulls small sounds from Laurens, Laurens’ hand still tight around Hamilton’s wrist on Laurens’ thigh as if Laurens cannot let go. Laurens’ coat bunches over his back, his hair falling in his face where he turns his head against the crate so Hamilton can see the same wanton lust on Laurens’ face which Hamilton feels coursing through him in each paired thrust – breath heavy, hand clutching on wood, as needy as Hamilton wants him to be, just for Hamilton.

Hamilton pumps and moves faster and groans and thinks of every time before this, never so many clothes before, never like this, never so much like fucking and less like adoration but right now Hamilton just wants to fuck and claim and Laurens pushes his hips back onto Hamilton into every chant of Hamilton’s – mine, mine, mine. Hamilton thinks, ‘my own, my dear, my darling, my pain, my sorrow, my desire and do not leave me, oh, please do not leave me.’

Then Hamilton spends himself within Laurens gasping, Laurens moaning once. Hamilton pulls back sharply making Laurens’ whimper. Hamilton stumbles two steps and hits a support pillar with his back. Laurens uniform falls down to cover his exposed ass as Laurens’ arches his back. He strokes himself three times before he groans and curls up slowly from the crate. Neither move from a moment, disheveled and weary, looking at each other. Then Hamilton rearranges his breeches and Laurens pulls out a handkerchief from a pocket, drying himself and handing it to Hamilton. Their fingers touch over the messy cloth and something sparks again – fear, anger, questions, love. Hamilton wipes himself once and throws the cloth to the floor. Now he can talk.

Hamilton breathes in deeply – calms his head, the afterglow of his lust – and stares at Laurens’ back as Laurens fastens the buttons of his breeches. “Why did you not tell me you are married?”

Laurens’ hands pause for a breath then he finishes his last button. He stares at the stone wall then turns to Hamilton. “I did not think it a consideration of what is between us.”

Hamilton’s jaw clenches. “Not a consideration?”

“She is in England, far from this.”

“Oh, yes, I see, distance is your marker. The truth of your life outside the war was not a consideration because it lies in England?”

Laurens shakes his head. “Even should she be in this country, she is not something which would touch our lives here together –”

“Yes, just a life to return to after this fight because all men wish for a wife and why not you too?”

“I do not,” Laurens interrupts sharply, “even if I should be cursed with one.”

Hamilton frowns, his voice harsh with criticism. “Is she such? Do you really feel the safety of a wife and family a burden?”

Laurens sighs. “She is a fine woman and wife and would have made any other man a grateful and happy home but I am not most men. You know this. What I want for my life is not as other men want. I want –”

“Yes, you want to sate your lusts and then leave this man,” Hamilton gestures to himself with both hands, “behind after you have no more need.”

“Stop! You know that is not true.”

“Do I? Why else should you deny me such knowledge and speak of your care and desire all while a woman holds your heart at home?”

“She does not hold my heart! It is you who –”

“You say this now because I know, but you chose to say nothing of your obligation for so long. What is an explanation for that?”

“I wished to protect you –”

“Protect?” Hamilton interrupts, his words coming faster now, his mind unable to stay on track through his anger. “You think that reason enough? You think it better to omit this?”

“I did not intend to do so. I did not have malicious intentions but neither did I expect to find you when I joined the fight.” Laurens paces closer to Hamilton but Hamilton steps back out of reach. Laurens sighs once and holds up his hands, imploring. “I did not expect to have such dreams realized.”

Hamilton shakes his head. “No, no, you cannot turn your deception around by use of previous ignorance.”

“Hamilton –”

“You may not have expected this, us, but it is not as though we have been as we are, felt as this, felt as I believed, for mere weeks or even months. It has been two years now!” Hamilton’s chest heaves and he feels ready to explode, to slam Laurens into the wall and claw him red. “And I must learn of your attachment because of a letter accidentally thrust into my hands? I must learn with friends around me and banality and requests for my aid in delivery of your wife’s letter which I would rather thrust into the fire, instead of knowing this fact from you?”

“That is not what I would have wished…”

Hamilton laughs once harshly. “Oh, certainly not. Perhaps you would have wished I never know at all and you could have your matrimonial home and then your mistress bed, is that so?”

“No!” Laurens cuts his arm through the air, stepping forward once in emphasis. “It is nothing of that kind! I care for you, not her!”

“If that be the truth then why not tell me? Why not say something in your letters?” Hamilton flings up a hand then points to himself once more. “Why make me suffer that when you were far away and fighting and with all possibility of dying and myself in fear and worry over the question of whether you held any affection for me at all?”

“I have great affection –”

“Why leave me with barely a note and no answer to my most important question for months and months after I first wrote you? Why ignore that subject and instead throw yourself into British fire as if you wished to not come back to me at all?” Hamilton’s words roll and fly and he cannot stop.

“Do not say –”

“Why, Laurens, why? Did you think I could easily brush aside a wife and a daughter, my God, a daughter! That I would say, ‘oh he is but a man as I, and a wife is bound to be found behind most men, my beliefs and his words of his own inclinations must have been wrong,’ and then not have any questions or concern?” 

“Will you but let me talk?” Laurens suddenly shouts so the floors above may even hear. “Or do you wish only to drive daggers in my chest and hear no explanations?”

“What explanation could you possibly give for nearly two years of silence around something so utterly important?”

“Then tell me what you would wish me to say!” Laurens growls. “Tell me what explanation you would be willing to hear!”

“I would wish to hear of a reason, a true reason for your conduct and your lies, your betrayal, your callous disregard for my care and connection with you and your wife! I would hear why you would make me into a paramour!”

“Hamilton, enough!” Laurens snaps, moving close enough to grip Hamilton’s arm but Hamilton yanks it away just as quickly. “I cannot change my past actions and certainly not those before I even met you. But it is you I care for, most of all. My wife is but an obligation not a source of desire or passion or true affection. She was a mistake, I did not nor do I want her.”

Hamilton scoffs. “And you can speak so of your wife who deserves your husbandly duties and affection?”

Laurens shoots Hamilton an incredulous look. “Would you wish me to love her and put her in competition with you?”

“I would wish she did not exist!” Hamilton hisses with a hatred he did not realize he felt – he feels the conversation spinning, running away from him.

“I cannot change that, Hamilton.” Laurens’ voice quiets, his eyes on the floor. “I can only tell you that she is no comparison to you; you hold every space in my heart.”

Hamilton bites his lips and turns away. He wants to shout more, to accuse, to let every concern that has poisoned his heart and mind in these months apart spill out. He also wants to hold Laurens close once more, to turn their earlier rough passions into soft and slow touches, more kisses and not just a fevered thrusting in this dank cellar. He wants to hate Laurens but he also knows that feeling is fleeting and he wishes to love him far more.

“I think…” Laurens starts again making Hamilton tense. “I think… and I know you would not expect this of me, I know the outward view of myself well enough, with my sword and actions when in battle, fights I do not shirk from but, in this, I think I gave in to my fear.” Hamilton raises his eyebrows but Laurens presses on. “At first I thought it but a kiss, something you would refuse later. And then perhaps a short fling of small intimacies, something you would think better of after little time but that was not so and I should not have thought that of you but even then I… but I think you, my Alexander, you brought out and perhaps still do, the most fear in me. I believe I feared after so long not speaking such fact that if I should, I would lose you.”

Hamilton finally looks up properly at Laurens, Laurens’ eyes on the wall instead of the man near him. Hamilton says, calmer now, “So you would risk exposure like this, as though it should be better I learn from someone else as I have?”

Laurens huffs heavily, the sound of sorrow more than any exasperation or anger, and he looks at Hamilton now. “I wanted us to remain happy as we were; no obligation of a woman or family in our way, no home to fear and with her so far… I wanted just you and not the world to encroach upon us. I… I wanted us happy.”

“You cannot escape the world, Laurens,” Hamilton says quietly, his voice raw. “We do live in it now, even in this fight; it has touched us before, as you know. It is not separate and I am not a fantasy. I am before you and you have hurt me.”

Hamilton sees the shine of unshed tears in Laurens’ eyes. He turns away sharply, his hands fisting near his hips. He shakes his head once then turns back to Hamilton. “I can only apologize then, tell you I was a coward and I was wrong for not telling you of my state sooner. I must urge you to believe me when I say a wife has no place between us. You are where all my affection and desire lies. I made a mistake long ago and a wife and child resulted from that. I did not, and do not, love her and that indeed makes me an unworthy husband to her. But I do not care about this now.” Laurens steps closer and takes Hamilton’s hand. Hamilton does not pull away this time. “I care about you, and that I have hurt you by my own hesitation and indecision is the worst fault.”

After a pause, Hamilton nods once at Laurens. “I believe you.” Laurens sighs like a gasp. “I do believe you to be true in your affection and that a wife would not change what is between us.” Laurens’ face brightens even more. “I had hoped your silence one of mercy and not malice.”

Laurens nods as well. “It was foolish of me to think not to share such truths with you. You deserve all from me.”

Hamilton looks at their hands, rubs his thumb over Laurens’ fingers. Laurens leans nearer, his lips against Hamilton’s cheek. “I am sorry,” Laurens whispers.

Hamilton turns his head and kisses Laurens lips, not crazed and angry as before instead soft and light. He does not tell Laurens he is forgiven, he still feels betrayal but he also knows that Laurens called himself a coward on Hamilton’s account, called himself a fool, and Hamilton can think of nothing more unlike Laurens and more profound than even the word ‘sorry’ spoken between them.

 

When they rise above stairs for sleep that evening, Laurens follows Hamilton into his bedroom with a portfolio in hand saying something about the southern campaign and troop needs, which neither of them hear. The portfolio lies on the desk untouched and Laurens does not return to his own bedroom that night, pretense or appearances be damned. They sleep but little, strip each other bare and use every hour, every minute, to touch and kiss and enjoy intimacies too long denied and too often impossible.

Laurens kisses over Hamilton’s jaw, whispers into his ear, “I’ve missed you,” “I need you,” “Alexander, Alexander.”

Every time Hamilton hears Laurens says his name with passion and yearning in his voice Hamilton forgives an inch more, knows where Laurens’ heart lies, and says, “my John, my Jack, dear Jack,” back with the same longing in his voice.

 

The next morning, bringing the dawn of December, also brings the remainder of the family and General Washington to Morristown. Though seeing the rest of their compatriots once more is a welcome experience, the snow and hailstorm they bring with them gives Hamilton no small amount of unease. He has no desire to relive a winter such as Valley Forge.

Hamilton and Laurens stand just inside the doorway, watching as the horses and carts come up the road. Several soldiers fight with the coverings over the carts attempting to save the supplies within. Hamilton sent some servants of the house ahead to help them and direct them to various storage barns but the storm may not give them the ease of such time.

“At least the men know how to build a sturdy hut this winter,” Laurens says, giving voice to much of Hamilton’s thoughts.

“Thank the Baron.”

“And experience.”

As the lead horses stop near the gate of the house and the riders dismount, Hamilton and Laurens finally exit the house into the gale to welcome their compatriots. They stand at the top of the stairs in front of the house together. Laurens pulls his own cloak off his shoulders and holds it up over the two of them as some meager cover from the snow. Hamilton feels oddly like the man and wife of the house awaiting guests, or perhaps the idea of wives lingers too much on his mind. Either way, he smiles more than the storm would generally permit. 

“Your Excellency!” Hamilton calls as he sees The General and Tench Tilghman walking first through the gate. “Do come inside out of this weather.”

Robert Hanson Harrison rushes up around the pair, bags in his hands. “Ah, Hamilton and Laurens, back among us.” He grins then skirts around them. “I must save the correspondence from this deluge.” Then he pushes open the door and hurries into the house.

Laurens chuckles once beside Hamilton. Hamilton glances up at Laurens under their shared cloak for a moment. Then he forces himself out of the cover and down the stairs, his hand out to grip General Washington’s.

“Sir, the house is prepared and the location for the main body of the army secured.”

“I had no doubt, Lieutenant Colonel,” General Washington replies, shaking Hamilton’s hand once as they climb the stairs. The General shifts to Laurens as he moves toward the door. “Laurens, good to have you back with us.”

“I hope you say the same when I tell you of our needs in the south.”

Then the party moves inside, a flurry of capes, hats and the snow and hail attempting to follow them within. Hamilton tries to take wet garments – Tilghman’s hat, Caleb Gibbs’ cape, the General’s hat nearly falling to the floor, a glove from Richard Kidder Meade – and offer greetings as all of their fellow aides crowd in at once, the servants left to deal with horses and the supplies not carried by the aides in the snow. Hamilton manages to skirt the General to one side as the aides rush about, bringing in necessary items to dry safety and all talking over each other.

“Why, Hamilton, it has been weeks but Laurens it has been months!” Meade says as he scoots around Tilghman carrying a crate and snow falling off his hat. “Which is the aide–de–camp office? I have paper to keep dry.”

“Harrison had the true correspondence,” James McHenry says as he takes off his hat and follows Meade with a bag over his shoulder. “Blank paper is more replaceable.”

“Do not talk to me of anything needing replacement,” Gibbs snaps as he helps the General with his cloak. “You will not ruin any useable anything!”

“Such eloquence,” Tilghman quips toward Gibbs briefly as he shakes Laurens’ hand with both of his. “But the true joy of arrival is this man before me! Laurens, Laurens, we have missed you so here in the North.”

Laurens smiles back. “And I all of you.”

Tilghman laughs, echoed by Meade in the aide–de–camp office. “So you say but what word do we receive from you? Barely letters to your closest friend here in Hamilton and what poor expectation of news have the rest of us?”

“Oh?” Laurens says, his face remaining serene despite the flops of Hamilton’s stomach at Tilghman’s unknowingly apt observations. “Were you unable to entice Hamilton to relate my prudent news?”

“We heard of your wounding to be sure, yet not so much from you,” Harrison says as he returns to the hall and takes Laurens’ hand from Tilghman. “I am glad to see it was not a wound to put you out of the fight.”

“What could keep our Laurens from the fight?” Meade says as he slides up beside Harrison still wearing his snowy cloak and hat. “Which might make a man wonder why he would deign to return to us at headquarters when the battle rages far more south?”

“You know why he has returned,” McHenry interrupts before Laurens may reply. “The same as we hear in every quarter, a need of something no doubt.”

“Where the fighting is fullest is where our troops and supplies must flow,” Laurens says curtly to McHenry. “I do not take this journey northward once more for idle hopes or casual need.”

“See, McHenry,” Tilghman says, picking up another crate from the door, likely full of more writing supplies. “It is our same Laurens.”

“And I should have thought the South might genteel you some once more,” Meade quips to Laurens, finally taking off his hat and getting some snow on McHenry’s boots. “But I am pleased to see you just as brash as when you left.”

Laurens sighs. “As you may say, Meade. I would not contradict you.”

Tilghman and Gibbs laugh as Meade raises his eyebrows high. “Oh now, there is the genteel southern gentleman.”

Hamilton stands beside General Washington while His Excellency reads the contract with Mrs. Ford quietly which Hamilton gave him. Hamilton waits with quill and ink in hand while he watches the flurry of exchanges in the hall. He cannot stop a smile on his face thinking things like family and love. Harrison gives Hamilton and the General a look, no doubt interested in the contract as well, while Gibbs’ glance toward them appears far more concerned, likely that of a monetary variety. Tilghman and Meade, however, continue their pleased exaltations to Laurens about his return while McHenry tries to stop the dripping water from both of them – Meade’s hat now in his hand and Tilghman still wearing his cloak.

“I trust Laurens was able to assist with your arrangements?” General Washington asks as he adds his signature to the document, Hamilton holding the pot of ink for him.

Hamilton keeps his eyes on Laurens speaking now to Gibbs for a moment. Then he glances at the General. “Yes, sir. I also assisted him with his own request to put forth to yourself.”

The General holds the paper and quill to Hamilton. “Yes, I am certain his has quite a list for me.”

“With the failure of Savannah and the threat to –”

“No need to gain ground ahead of Lieutenant Colonel Laurens’ report, Hamilton,” The General interrupts Hamilton’s speech. “You know me well aware of the situation in the south.”

“Perhaps not aware enough, sir.”

General Washington shoots Hamilton a sharp look. Hamilton purses his lips tight and does not retort again. The General turns his head away once more and walks over to Laurens. He holds out his hand, which Laurens shakes once.

“I believe we have much to discuss, Lieutenant Colonel, among them whether you may heed my request and stay with us.”

Laurens’ smile shifts into something of a grimace and his eyes tick to Hamilton beyond the General. Hamilton knows that expression – the disappointment in having to disappoint – and he tells himself he must dismiss what anger he still holds because he may have only weeks, only days left before Laurens leaves him again.

 

Hamilton works beside Laurens again, something he did not realize he missed. They sit side by side once more at the same table, pens scratching and knees touching. Hamilton plans with Harrison on requisitioning winter supplies so they do not fall into any of the errors of Valley Forge while Laurens writes to Congress about possibilities for the southern defense beyond his own discussions with His Excellency. Hamilton enjoys the companionable silence at work almost as much as Laurens close in his arms. It is a familiarity he did not consider as a comfort he needed. He values all his fellow aides–de–camp but Laurens is whom he would prefer seated by his side.

Laurens continues to meet with General Washington often, his voice rising from the General’s office into the aide’s, even through the closed door at times, making Hamilton smile no matter Laurens’ tone. 

“Do not think me ignorant of our needs in the southern campaign, Lieutenant Colonel,” General Washington says.

“It is more severe than you may have heard reported. If Charleston is not afforded more men there is no doubt that she will fall as Savannah,” Laurens insists.

“The wealth of men you may wish cannot be conjured out of air.”

“The southern brigades, to fight for their own states –”

“You cannot reorganize the army so speedily as you wish and Congress must –”

“Sir, do you believe Congress will listen?”

“Colonel Laurens.” General Washington’s voice rises to match Laurens’ – stern and rational just as Laurens’ turns angered. “I did not say I thought Congress would not approve your wish. I fervently hope and believe they shall. I am aware, as are they, the fight has shifted south.”

Laurens clears his throat. “I suggest the North Carolina brigade.”

“Continue, Laurens.” 

Laurens passes Hamilton in the hall, letters in both their hands and a cup of tea passed between them.

“Decision made?” Hamilton asks.

Laurens huffs. “Too many options untenable.”

Hamilton’s runs his fingers over the back of Laurens’ hand around the porcelain as they trade tea then hurry on past each other. “Not with you at the cause’s front.”

“Not with you by the General’s side,” Laurens counters, a smile over his shoulder and an assurance deep in Hamilton’s heart.

They eat at the same table once more, General Washington at the head, Harrison at his right discussing Congress, Meade and Tilghman across from them debating the naval significance to the war further south, McHenry attempting to breach questions of possible sickness in camp while Gibbs assures him of their new knowledge and precautions after the failings of Valley Forge. Hamilton sits beside Laurens, their heads close, fingers brushing over plates and pitchers as Laurens tells Hamilton true stories of Savannah and Hamilton replies with his own frustrations of desk and paper. 

Hamilton says, “I would rather you beside me at a desk, safe from sword.”

“And I would prefer you with your frustration than the fire of Savannah.”

“Then we both may remain unsatisfied.”

Laurens smiles slowly – Gibbs laughing, Meade waving a hand, Harrison asking for coffee despite the hour – and Laurens leans in closer. “Not quite so unsatisfied.”

Hamilton thinks he cannot be angry, he cannot feel betrayed when Laurens looks only at him, whispers in his ear and is close at hand once more.

 

Hamilton finds Laurens in the General’s office late in the evening, the General not in the room himself. Laurens sits at the desk, one candle lit and paper before him to write on. From the subtle frown on his face but swifter ease of his hand as he writes, Hamilton surmises Laurens’ writes his father.

“And what do you tell the elder Laurens?” Hamilton asks. “Good news of your progress or fears of their failings?”

Laurens turns his head slowly to Hamilton in the doorway. “I tell him of the General’s suggestion to send Baylor’s Virginia regiment south.”

“Did the General not also ensure the North Carolina brigade as you asked?”

Laurens nods. “He gives every assurance that it should be possible. Congress must also be surmounted, of course.”

Hamilton smiles slowly. “Of course.”

Laurens tilts his head. “Did you think I wrote my father because of how often I do or some other tell?”

“Oh.” Hamilton stands up straight and closes the door behind himself as he walks into the room. “Should I reveal all my knowledge of your nature?”

“Yes.”

Hamilton chuckles and stands close beside Laurens’ shoulder. “Well, who else should you write when I am here with you?”

Laurens stares up at Hamilton, taps his quill on a blotting paper and nods. “Too true.”

Hamilton runs his hand along the base of Laurens’ neck, scratching at his hairline. Then he pulls back and moves toward one chair against the wall. He picks it up then walks around and places it near the desk close to Laurens. He sits down so his feet brush Laurens’. Laurens puts his quill down in the stand.

“How much longer do you remain here?” Hamilton asks. “I imagine the General has asked you to stay.”

Laurens nods once, his eyes still on the desk. “And he is disappointed.” He looks up at Hamilton again.

Hamilton purses his lips. “Not only him.”

“I wish I could stay.”

“You could.” Hamilton runs his fingers over Laurens’ hand. “No one would say your duty to be unfulfilled. No one should think you anything but dutiful in your service.”

Laurens breathes in slowly and looks away. “Perhaps, expect myself.” 

Hamilton watches the clench of Laurens’ jaw, the measured breath and Hamilton knows it is himself in every line, every hesitation in Laurens’ countenance lies in Hamilton’s hands. Hamilton thinks if he wanted to, right now, he could use this British wife against Laurens. Hamilton could tell Laurens his departure will only prove the unfaithfulness of Laurens’ nature; that his words are less proof than his actions. Yet the expression – the truth – Hamilton sees In Laurens’ profile halts Hamilton’s harsh words and jealous nature in his throat. 

Hamilton smiles though he does not feel the sentiment in the expression. “You may be your own worst judge.”

Laurens’ eyes tick back to Hamilton. “Are you not the same to yourself?”

Hamilton chuckles once. “No, I find myself most fine and eloquent and dashing. Can you not see that wholly?”

“And more.” Laurens’ fingers thread with Hamilton’s. “And I well see your mirth, your guard against those who would call you less.”

Hamilton breathes in deeply and stares at their hands. “I understand you.” He looks up again. “‘Duty first,’ did you not say?”

“A war and independence is bigger than we two.” Hamilton looks away again but Laurens tugs at his fingers so Hamilton looks back. “But I cannot help my own selfishness, my own desire for your kisses over my duty.”

Hamilton smiles slowly. “I should call myself Adonis then, to cause such in you.”

Laurens grins and the expression appears far more lascivious than Hamilton’s. “I do.” Laurens sighs once more, his fingers trailing up Hamilton’s wrist making patterns over Hamilton’s arm under the cloth of his shirt. “I wish I could stay.”

Hamilton does not repeat his overture this time. He does not need to.

 

The hour is late, the sun mostly set so the sky appears deep orange and the stars start to break through. Tilghman, Meade and McHenry still work in the aide–de–camp office but Harrison has risen above stairs for sleep, as has the General. Hamilton and Laurens, however, have chosen a third option from work or sleep. 

Laurens appears at the door to their office, two hats in hand. “Hamilton?”

Hamilton smiles and stands from the table he shares with Meade and Tilghman, Tilghman’s head resting on his arms. Meade raises both eyebrows at Hamilton as he walks to the door. Hamilton takes his hat from Laurens then reaches for his cloak hanging near the door.

“Dressing for the night?” Meade asks. “I do not think your room upstairs so cold at that.”

Laurens smiles. “You think so, but I bunk with the guards now. Not too exalted a space as aides–de–camp.”

Hamilton looks at Laurens, their eyes catching for a moment as Hamilton helps to tie Laurens’ cloak in place; friendly and intimate at once, a way to touch him with others in sight with little fear.

“You plan to walk outside?” McHenry hisses, his eyes shooting to the window.

“We shall return soon, but a short walk,” Hamilton says as he drops his hands to his sides once more.

“But you are aware it is freezing without and deep in snow!”

“Why no, McHenry,” Laurens counters as he puts his hat on his head, “I thought it a summer day.”

McHenry’s brow furrows at Laurens’ sudden sarcasm.

Hamilton waves a hand to save Laurens’ evident dislike of the other man. “Do you not imagine a man may need some peace from the bustle of this house?”

McHenry puts down his quill in clear consternation. “You had a week’s worth of peace before this.”

“Yet I did not,” Laurens says.

Hamilton shoots Laurens a reproachful look at such implications, be it Hamilton as a serious taskmaster or something more indiscreet. Laurens merely winks back. Meade starts to laugh loudly causing Tilghman to jolt up from his doze. 

Hamilton smiles once more. “We shall return soon. Do not wait on us.”

The two men walk out the front door and into the snow. The cold air hits them immediately, a shiver running over Hamilton’s whole body. They walk out and around the fence, walking the length of the house along the road until they turn back around toward the back of the house. They move past the servants putting the horse to peace for the night and a pair of soldiers standing guard at a far post. They move toward the trees at the edge of the Ford property. Once they hit the trees, Hamilton squeezes his fingers around Laurens’ hand slipping into his. They do not walk far into the trees, the sound falling but the distant lights of the house and the town still visible. Hamilton picks a spot where the snow lies lower near the base of a tree. If he looks up now he still sees the stars through the branches above him.

“Alexander?”

Hamilton looks back at Laurens. Hamilton shivers once more and Laurens steps closer, wrapping one arm and the length of his cloak around Hamilton. “Ah.”

They press close, chests flush and the warmth between them chasing away some of the December cold. Hamilton turns his head, the point of his hat brushing the brim of Laurens’ as Hamilton presses a deep kiss to Laurens’ lips – stubble on Laurens’ chin, the sharp line of his jaw, Laurens’ hand pressing into his back, his breath over Hamilton’s cheek, a whisper of ‘Alex’ back in his throat. Hamilton peppers kisses along Laurens’ jaw, tries to forget how few days remain to them. He shivers once more in Laurens’ arms.

“You are cold,” Laurens whispers.

“We stand in snow.”

Laurens laughs once against Hamilton’s cheek then pulls back. “Then I may warm you.” Laurens holds up a canteen from his other hand.

“I do imagine water not something we have much worry of now and not such an aim toward warmth.”

“Tea.”

“Tea?”

“Canteens may most often ferry water but I saw no reason that now this one could not attempt to bring us tea for our cold excursion. “

Hamilton laughs. “Something to keep us warm and to add more merriment for our jaunt.”

“Exactly so.”

“So I see we are of a similar mind.” Hamilton pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. He pulls back the folds and reveals a pair of ginger cookies inside. Laurens smiles and touches his nose to Hamilton’s.

Hamilton grins. “I dared the forbidden bounds of the Ford kitchen to steal us this small treat as I think we both well deserve.”

“And I thank you for your attentions.”

“And yours,” Hamilton replies as he bites his cookie and hands Laurens’ his, wrapping his other hand around the warm canteen with Laurens’. Laurens puts the whole cookie into his mouth at once, crumbs falling so Hamilton chuckles as he chews his own.

“Drink,” Laurens says, nudging the canteen toward Hamilton’s lips as Hamilton finishes his stolen pastry.

Hamilton pulls out the wooden stopper and takes a careful sip of the hot liquid. Hamilton cannot stop a grimace at the over sweet and milky tea.

Laurens frowns. “Too hot yet?”

Hamilton only shakes his head. “My dear John, we take our tea in entirely different manners.”

Laurens only raises his eyebrows, sipping the tea once himself. Hamilton lets go of the canteen and Laurens drops his hand, the canteen sliding down into the snow as Laurens’ lets go. “No milk or is it less sugar you should wish?”

Hamilton looks at Laurens then his eyes slide away – he sees a shabby house, his mother and an upbringing that never truly fades. “As a boy in St. Croix,” Hamilton says, “money could rarely be spared for luxuries such as sugar or cream for tea. Sugar was shipped away for profit not used at table.” He looks back to Laurens, his expression attentive and clearly controlled. “My tea was often black and bitter and now with such time drinking it thus...” Hamilton makes a face. “I have difficultly bearing such sweet tea as many take it here.” He shrugs once against Laurens. “Perhaps I should try it more.”

Laurens shakes his head. “You may take your tea as you wish.”

“Oh? Do I not deserve more sugar now?”

Laurens smirks. “An interesting distinction.” Laurens touches their foreheads together. “Did you never have sugar in your youth? Did you think to not drink tea instead perhaps?”

“We were still English.”

Laurens laughs once. “Ah yes.”

“My childhood...” Hamilton breathes in slowly. “My childhood was not always meant so well for a child.”

Laurens nods. “We each have our pasts. I... I should have told you of –”

“We have spoken of this,” Hamilton interrupts.

“We have,” Laurens counters, “but you deserve the whole. Martha was a friend, another member of society in England and I was hurt at the time.”

“Hurt?”

“I told you of him, Francis, from my school days.”

“Yes.”

“We… we differed in thought, he leaning with loyalist sympathies, but even more so in his desire for a wife, a woman instead.”

“Ah…” Hamilton feels a familiarity he does not want with this man.

“So I acted rashly,” Laurens continues, “I thought... I thought if I could be what I should, like others; if I could understand such tastes....” Laurens stiffens and Hamilton realizes how differently Laurens’ sees himself to be, not just as Hamilton’s wide interest, but even more so apart from most men. “I thought if I found her company pleasing, as she did of mine, then I could perhaps desire more of her, if I tried...”

“And you did.”

Laurens jaw clenches. “Once. I was indiscreet, as was she, but only once. Yet… well, when I learned of her condition, I saw no choice but to offer her marriage.” Hamilton raises his eyebrows in surprise. “My mistake cost us both.” Laurens’ expression sours more. “Her even more so, I could say, though she may not think the same.” Laurens glances away.

Laurens sighs and closes his eyes. Hamilton leans up and kisses Laurens once more, Laurens kissing back and opening his eyes. 

“I understand it is not easy for you,” Hamilton says. “You would have loved her if you could.”

“We need not talk more of her. I would not pain you with this knowledge. I left her in England and I would keep her there now, especially now that you stand in my arms instead of states away.”

They stand for a moment in silence, the sky completely dark now and the moon breaking through leafless branches.

“I wish I had not opened my heart so to you at times,” Hamilton admits with a deep sigh.

Laurens looks down at Hamilton, snow in his hair. He nods; both their lives would be easier without this between them. Laurens presses his face into Hamilton’s hair, Hamilton’s hat pushed back further. “I am glad you did and that you believe me.” 

Hamilton smiles, feels the warmth of Laurens close to him with the bitter cold air around them. “You are honest even in your dishonestly.” 

“And you speak like prose. My own Shakespeare.” 

Hamilton chuckles. “Is that all?” 

“Plato perhaps or Socrates then. “

“Oh, I am no philosopher.” 

Laurens pulls back enough so they may look at each other. “Perhaps you do not think so but all your fine words bewitch me so that you make me your convert.”

Hamilton shakes his head. “And I think you mean only to charm me.”

“Do you not deserve it?”

“I do not need your charm. You have me here now. You need not woo me more. Save that for your letters when you leave me.”

“Hamilton…”

“I only want you,” Hamilton continues, his cold hands sliding up under Laurens’ scarf, over his cheeks. “You as I have you at present, your hand and lips and body here.” Laurens shivers under his caress and Hamilton knows it is not from the weather around them. “I wish only the man I adore.”

“You have me,” Laurens whispers. “Just you, I promise.”

“I know.” Hamilton sighs and nods against Laurens, chests touching, legs touching, hands touching, nose to cheek to forehead and lips. “I do.”

“Alexander...”

“Yes, Jack.” Hamilton sighs deeply. “I have missed you.”

“I missed you,” Laurens whispers, a shiver running through him – cold or something else perhaps.

They stand close, their barely drunk canteen of tea between them turning cold in the snow, cloaks wrapped around each other and their noses bumping. Hamilton kisses Laurens, chaste lips and both their cheeks cold now. Hamilton wants to press Laurens against a tree for more carnal delights but he is not so insensible to the cold.

“We should return,” Laurens says first with obvious hesitation. “Even you close to me cannot keep the cold at bay.”

“I feel as warm as the sun.”

“Alexander...”

Hamilton nods. “Yes, yes.” He glances back toward the house, close enough that the light and roof can easily be seen. He smiles slowly then turns to Laurens again. “The Ford house does include an attic.”

Laurens breathes in slowly. “An attic?”

“Yes.”

“One devoid of servants sleeping?”

Hamilton nods. “One only for storage, sloped and low ceilings, you see.”

“Ah.” Laurens smiles, thoughtful and warm. “Like the first time.”

Hamilton flushes despite the cold, remembering the lust and fear and his own boldness and Laurens’ face when he saw Hamilton laid bare on their stolen pallet. How could he ever doubt this man’s love with such a memory? 

“Yes,” Hamilton says, “just as the first time.”

 

Hamilton and Laurens return to the house, hanging up their wet cloaks and hats while they speak about South Carolina. How can Laurens try once more to advance his black regiment plan? They pass the aide office, McHenry and Meade awake still, and do not stop as they talk – as they feint – and make their way upstairs talking of drafting a new proposal. It may be a weak attempt but Hamilton knows none will search for them, not with they assuredly returned, not with most asleep and not with the chill even inside this grand house. Hamilton can create an excuse come morning. He will not sacrifice a night with Laurens now, even in lieu of safety.

In the attic, they push aside stacks of baskets, dusty linens, cracked pots and unmarked trunks. Blankets and pillows make a stiff bed on the wood floor but they have slept in tents upon the march and care less about that sort of comfort now. Laurens ducks under beams and Hamilton pulls him lower, twists the end of Laurens’ cravat around his fingers until it slips away out of thought. He pulls at their coats, lays the wool beneath them to insulate their self-made bed. Laurens kisses Hamilton’s lips over and over, breathes deep and slow and they still half clothed in the moonlit darkness.

Laurens says, “Alexander,” as though no other word could cross his mind now.

Hamilton pulls at buttons, pushes away every piece of fabric which separates him from the one thing – the one person – he wants now. He asks only for touch and Laurens gives him every moment, each hand, two lips, one arm for Hamilton to pull as he takes Laurens’ shirt, and two hips to rise away from every last bit of clothing so Hamilton claims skin and body as a spoil of their arguments and waiting. 

Hamilton says, “Jack,” as he keeps Laurens on top of him, his fingers running over the muscles of Laurens’ back and Laurens’ hips causing friction to spark stars in Hamilton’s eyes.

Laurens slides down Hamilton, kisses following his hands, eyes peeking up at every inch so they watch each other, so he may watch Laurens worship Hamilton as Hamilton accepts his reverence with his own praise returned. Then Laurens bites at the hollow of Hamilton’s hip and finds his true destination in his pilgrimage of Hamilton’s body. Laurens licks and sucks Hamilton’s length, his hair falling and his hands gripping tight to Hamilton’s hips like a request, like devotion. Hamilton gives back, his hips arching upward, as his elbows keep him aloft so he will not miss one glance. He stares at Laurens, watches Laurens’ lips tight and the steady motion of his head up and down Hamilton’s member and what could be lewd is gorgeous instead, pure bliss.

Until, it is not enough, until he wants more, until Hamilton grips Laurens’ hair to pull him up for fevered, starburst kisses and trades Laurens’ hand on his hips for his own hands on Laurens’ hips. He pulls Laurens flush and grips Laurens’ penis with his hand, stroking and memorizing, and guiding Laurens for deeper passions, real passions, not anger as he used on Laurens before.

“Dear Jack,” Hamilton whispers still into Laurens’ ear, his lips over Laurens’ cheek as he pushes his thighs, his ass, down closer, wanton and wanting and desirous of Laurens inside him now. 

Laurens moves slowly at Hamilton’s entrance, oil slicked from a jar now hidden under breeches, until Hamilton shifts, Laurens slides deep making them both gasp, ‘oh’ in their voices, tension in their bodies from the sheer effort of restraint in not running away with themselves. Instead, Hamilton holds fast to Laurens’ neck, squeezes his thighs tight around Laurens, keeps him at pace and ease and where Hamilton wants him. He turns Laurens’ face to watch his eyes, to watch him as he moves and penetrates deeper in body and soul.

Hamilton breathes heavier, says, “Don’t stop.” Laurens nodding only, bare syllables without words eking from his lips onto Hamilton’s as he kisses. 

“Don’t stop,” Hamilton prays once more, his hands sliding down Laurens’ sides making Laurens shiver as though Hamilton drags fire and ice with each fingertip.

Then Hamilton pushes Laurens’ and squeezes his thighs around Laurens to turn him. Laurens eyes widen, his breath stutters and Hamilton turns him over to his back on the wool. They separate for bare moment – cold and darker as though their sex creates some light to see by – then Hamilton swings his hips over Laurens’ waist once more and positions himself down over Laurens’ length fluidly so the light bursts forth once more, Laurens moaning and Hamilton huffing out air in ecstasy. He rises and falls and melts back with closed eyes into the feeling of Laurens’ deep inside him, thrusting up and hard and Hamilton over sensitive, his thoughts absent but for ‘John, Jack, Jack darling.’ Until Hamilton has to open his eyes again to see the quiet gasps as they come from Laurens’ lips as though Hamilton tortures him with every move of Hamilton’s body. And Hamilton does torture him but it is rite and a gift and Laurens does not say stop.

When Laurens’ comes he shudders and his head tilts to the side, the shine of a tear at the edge of his eye in the moonlight. Hamilton pulls himself back then curves over Laurens, kissing through the hair on his chest, up Laurens’ neck and to the creases at his eye. He feels Laurens’ hand squeeze Hamilton’s hip, his fingers reaching for Hamilton’s penis still hard and waiting. Hamilton grips Laurens’ hand, moves it down to the blankets over the floor and holds it there.

“No, not that,” Hamilton says. “I want you again, now not… not angry,” his words come out less elegant, more raw, just feelings he sees the same on Laurens’ face. “I want you now.”

Laurens smiles at Hamilton, his breath still shaky. Hamilton kisses him slowly, lips pressing gentle over Laurens' eyes and brow, strokes himself slowly with oil on his hand, as he waits for Laurens to relax, to come back down with Hamilton. Until, Laurens nods, puts up his hand to Hamilton's cheek, kisses Hamilton back. “Yes,” he nods again, says, “please.”

They move together with less grace – Hamilton’s hands stroking Laurens’ ass as Laurens pushes nearer and Hamilton sinks inside him with no pain or resistance or hesitation, only Laurens groaning like a praiseful choir, and Hamilton holding himself there deep as he is able until Laurens starts to shake beneath him. Then Hamilton repeats their adulation in every thrust, every slide of their sweat sheened skin together, every fleck of star shine on Laurens’ face. Laurens props up his hand behind him on the floor so he may shift and push back harder against Hamilton. He grips Hamilton neck and forces Hamilton closer for kiss after kiss, their lips sloppy but needful. Hamilton thrusts deep and passionate and watches Laurens’ face, counts kisses into the hundreds, the thousands, as he keeps Laurens close and tight and his right now.

When Hamilton finally gasps after less time, Laurens’ lips over his, and Hamilton’s hand on Laurens’ shaft to make him moan and come once more, they finally fall down together on the cloth beneath them. Hamilton feels a glow, like heaven, like firelight, like the moon on water. He wonders if Laurens feels the glow too or if the glow comes from Laurens, Hamilton’s own Laurens, his John, his Jack.

When the darkness of the room falls back around them, they roll to their sides, heads resting on the thin pillows they have ignored until this moment. Hamilton cleans them both up with a handkerchief, hoping their uniforms have remained unscathed. Beside him, Laurens breathes steadily, his eyes closed.

“John.” 

He opens his eyes once more. “Alex.”

Hamilton smiles. He adores the sound of his name on Laurens’ lips, each time it sounds as if Laurens has discovered a hidden treasure no one knows of but himself. He watches Laurens’ face, their eyes accustomed to the real dark of the attic now, the silence of the house below them.

“Like the first time,” Hamilton whispers.

Laurens smiles, his eyes half closed and Hamilton thinks maybe Laurens appears shy, charmed even, and Hamilton wants to ask him why, because of then or now?

He says, “Tell me.”

Laurens’ eyes tick up and he says, “I am happy.” He sighs quietly until his smile lessens and his tone saddens. “I am happy.”

Hamilton shifts his head closer so their foreheads touch. “What if I should ask you to stay?”

Laurens blows out a slow breath, the air colder around them with Hamilton’s invitation to the world to return. Laurens closes his eyes. “I would say I must finish what I have begun and duty comes first.”

Hamilton runs his hand over Laurens’ face, his lips, his eyelids, until Laurens opens his eyes once more. “And what if I should ask to join you?”

Laurens breathes in. “I would not say no, not as I did before, not now.”

“Not now,” Hamilton repeats as he curls close to Laurens, happy and hopeful and fearful still.

 

John Laurens leaves Morristown on the tenth of December with snow still on the ground and the household to see him off once more.

General Washington says, “I wish you well on your Journey though I still regret your decision.”

Laurens nods, says, “I wish only for the aid I came for to be fully realized and sent south as needed.”

Meade jokes about battle scars while Tilghman chastises on the same. Harrison reminds Laurens of the need to write, of news they will require of Charleston and the army. McHenry gives Laurens an article for the Philadelphia press Laurens only takes, to Hamilton’s eyes, due to the other men present. Gibbs gives Laurens his horse and a wink. So then, it is only Hamilton to say goodbye again after not much more than two weeks together.

Hamilton and Laurens hug each other tightly, perhaps a step beyond the bounds of public affection but the family knows well of their close friendship. Hamilton cannot bear only a handshake goodbye this time, not after so long fueling anger and so little time allowing love.

Laurens whispers, “I am sorry, truly,” into Hamilton’s ear as they hold each other for a few seconds longer.

“I know,” Hamilton replies, a breath before they pull back.

“Join me if you are able,” Laurens says, their hands shaking clasped together now. “And write in either case.”

“I will,” Hamilton replies. “You have my promise there.”

Laurens nods and then he turns away to horse and journey. Hamilton stands still at the foot of the steps up to the white porch. Hamilton feels his thoughts swirl – will Laurens live, will he die, will Hamilton join him, will they remain apart, how long, a month, a year, will Laurens fade like his profile on the horizon, will Hamilton stay trapped in one place, chained to exulted position, unsure, afraid, angry at the army, Washington, the world – but they remain anchored around one thought at least. Hamilton knows the truth of Laurens’ heart, that it lies where it should in Hamilton’s hands.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is in the process of becoming a book, to keep up with the progress check out the book website [Duty and Inclination](https://www.dutyandinclination.com/) and my author [facebook page](https://www.facebook.com/DupontWrites).


End file.
